Mum has weeks left

Hi there, I am so sorry to read your news.  I lost my dad 9 weeks ago today... he had stage 4 renal cancer, that spread to his spine. Became paralysed in May, was in hospital right up till July 22nd.  At that point, he came home..for we thought about 3 months or so. Social services had arranged a care package of carers 4x a day, and the district nurse was to come twice a week. He came home Monday, the next day the GP called, and the district nurse.  I live 200 miles away, so was going up on the saturday to do some chores for he and mum, and of course to spend time with dad.  I spoke to him each day that week, and every time, he sounded that little bit more defeated..it was heartbreaking. On the Friday, he started sounding like he had fluid in his chest, and became crackly. Saturday, I was in the car heading up, and mum called, going mad, she had realised that in hospital, he’d been on a nebuliser, and without this now was why he had this fluid.  Unbelievably, I found Argos sold them, so my brother went and got one for him.  I arrived a couple of hours later. When I got there, it was so sad. He was in the bed, unable to move, but he waved and smiled. I held this hand and said ‘hey, you’re fine..there’s no writing you off yet’.. There was a district nurse there, and she had called the doctor about his chest.  He came, and then about 10 mins later, he called me, mum, brother into the kitchen, and told us dad was in heart failure, and was dying. At this point, everything just feels dream like..he deteriorated by the minute really.. he was able to signal, drink a little water, but his speech became hard to understand. I sat with him with the Tour De France on (he loved it) and the camera showed some people with blue paint on their faces..I said look at that, then he started saying something like get the paint off me, so I realised he was starting to get confused. I asked him if he wanted to look at the newspaper..and offered to read it.. I read elements of his favourite bits (politics etc), showed him the pictures, then started showing him photos of where he’d grown up on my iPad.. he was holding my iPad, taking it off me, and looking, so I know he was enjoying it. By now, the nurse had put a line in him, and he was having painkillers pumped in.  He’d turned down a sedative when they offered it, but when the nurses next came (they came every 4 hours), they gave him a sedative via the pump also. Me, mum and sister sat by his bed as the venting progressed, and we played his favourite music on Alexa...after a bit, I asked him did he want more music, and he said I just want to sleep... so we stopped.  They were his last words.  He was then kind of sleeping but the breathing was that terrible rattle, but he wasn’t in discomfort. At some point, he opened his eyes, and they became quite starey.  He stayed like this, then at 230, I suddenly noticed the rattling of his chest had stopped, he breathed and he left us x  even now it’s surreal... I had been terrified of him going, and didn’t think I could be there at the time, I didn’t think I could handle it..but I’m so glad I was..I know he was not in pain (unlike all the previous months) and he felt our presence, knew we were there. I have to say, the GP team, and the district nurses were absolutely amazing in their support.  We all miss him so much now, and are of course, grieving, but this carries a lot less stress than seeing him suffer as he had. 

Sorry for sharing so much..it’s still very hard to believe TBH, and I can’t believe we got through it..but we did. Love to you and your family at this time    Xxx

caroline 

I spent the final weeks with my mother as she transitioned from the woman who raised me to death. As she gradually lost control of her body as the cancer took over, I would spend every day just sitting with her listening to music, talking, watching television, etc. She eventually got so she couldn't even get out of bed so I sat beside her bed. During all those days, I always went home at night and came back in the morning. The day hospice came to hook her up to a syringe driver in the evening, I hugged her and told her I loved her and she said she loved me too. I left for home while my father stayed behind and hospice hooked up the driver. For some reason, I didn't make it all the way home and turned around and went back. When I got back, my mother had slipped into a sleep and she never came out of it. Hospice gave us drops to stop the breath rattling mentioned by the other person and we just sat and talked with my mother as if she was awake. At night, we would take turns sleeping and getting up and spending time with her. 

Early before dawn on the fourth morning, I woke up and felt the need to go check on mom. When I entered the room I felt her breathing was different. I sat beside her and held her hand as her breathing grew shallower over the next hour. She took her final breath and passed away. After saying our goodbyes, we notified hospice and the funeral home and they came to get her while we stood outside and watched a spectacular sunrise.

I don't remember being scared or emotional during those final weeks. I think for two and a half years prior, I had grieved myself out and the morning of my mom's death, I was just there for the ride so to speak. After the hearse had left, we cooked breakfast and made plans to meet at the funeral home later that day to make arrangements. I went home, grabbed a shower and took a nap before then. After making all the arrangements though, I think everything finally caught up with me and I just felt like a hollowed out husk for several days. I slept and cried a lot during that time.

Eventually though that feeling was replaced with a need to honor my mother and make sure her name is mentioned. I try to tell my kids a story about their grandmother several times a week. I attend events that she would have attended and continue to support several cancer related organizations. My mother never wanted a funeral so she was cremated and privately scattered out per her wishes. But as the first anniversary of her death approaches, we are preparing to have a celebration of her life among family and close friends. 

I still feel her presence all these months later. Just a few weeks ago, a quilt she had been working on was finished and gifted to me. I had no idea of it until then. Yesterday I was cleaning out my phone and found a recording she had left on it a long time ago. Little things like that keep happening and I know she is looking over me. When I was where you are now, I was worried about the future. Now I look back fondly on the past and hope I can be as graceful as she was in death when it comes my time. I hope my kids can be there at my bedside and will continue to honor me long after I am gone.